


Two...

by guanoo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Disordered thoughts, Episode: s05e21 Two Minutes to Midnight, Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 20:38:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6722497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guanoo/pseuds/guanoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[<span class="u">5.21</span>] [<span class="u">incomplete</span>]<br/>[A harp sounds. A bell tolls. The pages catch fire. And Dean finds the wrong name etched into his tombstone.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two...

 

"I gotta ask, Dean. What exactly are you afraid of? Losing? Or losing your brother."

 

Later it hits him hard, leaves him dazed. He wanders away from what's left of Team Free Will. Wanders out through the junkyard, out to the far end of the lot, where Bobby piles junkers that aren't good for much of anything—too rusted even for scrap. There's a chain-link fence and a gully below and it looks barren, sparse yellow grasses fluttering listlessly in the wind, limp straw sticking to the cold earth.

Dean sits on the hood of the last car like he did as a boy, and just stares out at that nothing. He stares, and he thinks of life without Sam.

Without Sam.

Without Sam to worry about. Without Sam to knock around. Without Sam to...

to color his world.

And he feels it again—that impulse that had him pawning off his soul cheap the first time. The one that got him sent to Hell to begin with. What started this entire mess.

If it were up to him...

_which really it isn't—not when Sam himself is backing it, since Sam's stubborn as a mule; not that anyone knows it with him sweet-talking them like he does_

...but if it were all up to him, to choose between the world and his brother, he'd make the right call, right?

Only, he doesn't know what the right call is. He just doesn't see much of a point without Sam.

As the vast, barren landscape pushes into his soul and threatens to incapacitate him, he tears away from it, barreling through the junkyard, ripping his pants, knocking his shins against metal, barely clearing a loose tire, but then he's in the kitchen, and Sam and Bobby are looking over a map, talking business—the sort of detail-work they tend to excuse him from. But the wildness he feels must show in his eyes because Sam's staring, getting out of his chair, standing before him all big and powerful and chosen, hair glinting chestnut in the evening sun through the kitchen window.

All at once, Dean clears his throat and turns from his brother. "Sorry," he grunts. "Got thirsty."

He rummages around in the cupboard, fumbles a glass. It smashes against the countertop. He pretends not to notice, finds another glass, turns on the tap, and a huge figure behind him is pulling him into a tight hug.

"Anyway Sam I gotta go check on the─ THING!" Bobby shouts through the screen door before it slams shut in his wake.

Bobby's pissed.

"'Kay," Sam shouts back, not bothered at all.

And why would he care? Not like he'll be left behind. Not like Bobby will be all that's left of his family after his little brother─

"Fuck off," he hisses, trying to squirm out of Sam's gigantic arms.

"Get it together, Dean," Sam's voice is low in his ear. "We're heading out in a couple hours."

"Screw you," he grunts back, trying to lunge sideways. Sam anticipates his motion and he teeters off balance, leaning back against his brother's chest.

Sam's hand slides upward, thumb pushing against his windpipe. "You fuck up, we might all die."

The thought tumbles, unwelcome, through his mind: _Don't want to live without you anyway_.

He fights now in earnest, sending an elbow back into Sam's ribs while stomping on his foot. Sam lets go, but not for long, shoving him back against the counter. Dean's hand goes out behind him for support, and shattered glass bites into his palm. Sam's got his face in both hands, trying to force eye contact─ No. No way. Dean's not meeting his eyes until he can put up his defenses a little.

But the way his brother says "Dean," all soft and hurt, surprises him into looking.

For a moment he thinks Sam must understand him perfectly. Knows it, really─knows Sam knows exactly what he's thinking. And that bastard is going to jump into the cage anyway.

Dean tries to turn away but Sam's kissing him. Soft, too soft, and it's tearing deep into the emptiness into his chest and filling it with Sam, while he's still here.

Which won't be long.

"Fuck me," he says against his brother's mouth.

Sam freezes, and Dean's expecting a No again, but after a long moment the grip on his arms tightens, and Sam's voice says, "Okay." Dean doesn't open his eyes.

Sam pulls him through the house. He thinks they're heading upstairs but they only make it to Bobby's library before Sam shoves him down on the floor, behind piles of books. He makes short work of Dean's boots, jeans, then gives him a lost look, and says "I don't have anything."

Of course he doesn't─probably thought they'd never fuck again after that last fight.

"Forget lube. Do it anyway."

Sam spits in his palm, and that's not nearly enough prep, but he shoves it in anyway, and that deep emptiness that was spreading through Dean vanishes for one perfect moment. 

Then it's animal, familiar, panting into each other's mouths at the friction, Dean grunting "harder" and Sam obliging. Then something in him gives, and it's sticky.. maybe blood? He isn't sure. Hurts plenty but that feels right, with Sam leaning over him and pinning him down. He knows how this part goes, anyway. This part, he is definitely on board with. Disgusting as that sounds.

He cums first and Sam's powerful hips thrust him faster. The floor chafes his spine through thin fabric. At least he'll have bruises. But those will fade too fast.

Sam's forehead dropped against his shoulder when he started giving it to him hard; now he grabs a fistful of Sam's hair and pulls him up into a kiss, biting. Sam bites him back, even better. He tastes blood as Sam cums inside him. The thrusts grow wetter, erratic, then slow. He wants to hold on but his body feels distant.

 _These hands seem strong, don't they?_  
_"Aw Sammy, don't cry kiddo, it's just a movie. Look, I can stop it any time."_

After, Sam kisses him once, lingering and sad, then gets up and leaves him alone on the floor like that, maybe to collect himself, maybe to break down.

But that's just fair, isn't it? Sam's giving up his life for the world. At least one person will wish he didn't make the trade.

Still. It's happening. Whatever Sam wants...

He realizes he's shaking. Rubs his hands over his face and they come back wet. Has to get up before someone finds him like this. Somehow winds up in the bathroom in the hall.

 

~

 

He knows the sun goes down when the last bits of gold fade from under the door. He splashes water over his face again, looks a mess, decides he doesn't care. End of the world, right?

Sam's packing Dean's bag in the living room, movements brisk but collected, sharp, as if nothing happened. He stills almost imperceptibly as Dean shuffles in, but doesn't look up from his work. Bobby's checking weapons.

Dean lowers his eyes when Bobby squints at him, mostly love, but laced with a little pity and perhaps disgust, as if he knows how much Dean likes getting fucked, likes being controlled... the rougher, the more degrading, the better.

But he's not totally undone by Bobby knowing anymore. Maybe he'll mention it someday. Probably not.

Man, he hopes he doesn't make it out of this one.

 

 


End file.
